


The Other Maze

by orphan_account



Series: The Other Maze [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Other Maze is a fan-written account of Group B’s Maze Trials that occurred at the same time as Thomas’ story in the first book. The set up of Group B’s trial is the same as Group A’s, but it is inhabited by only girls (as far as WCKD cares to identify), with the exception of Aris. The story is told from the point of view of Harriet and follows the movie-verse’s events instead of the books’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harriet

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a fan of The Maze Runner series, and I always found myself wondering how Harriet and Sonya’s Maze Trials had gone. I felt like there was such a big story to tell there, and being filled with so many headcanons and ideas made me feel insane enough to start writing it all down. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy my rendition of this story, and I hope you fall in love with my characters as much as I have.

CHAPTER 01 - HARRIET

                The first day all I did was cry. I Cried out of fear, cried out of frustration, cried out of sadness, cried out of confusion, and cried for the fact that I couldn’t stop crying. My mind was completely blank aside from memories of scraping metal and unheard screams.

                I didn’t even step out of the box that had brought me here.

                The second day I heard a name. Someone calling a name. _Harriet_. Were they calling to me? Is that who I was? It was only for stability in a situation where I knew absolutely nothing that I chose to go by it. I needed a solid base to stand on, after all.

                I was Harriet. I was in a box. Around me was approximately three large bags of assorted fruits and vegetables, several toolboxes, a sack of what I could only assume was art supplies, and a small knife.

                I sat for a few more moments. The sun blared down on me from overhead. Even though I had no memories of a childhood or education, I knew what everything was. The sun, grass, wind, all the supplies that came with me; I knew what they all were. My history was a blank space, but my intelligence was not.

                I shook out rigid muscles and stood up amongst the scattered items. Grabbing the stiff metal frame of the box, I lifted myself out of the box and onto soft grass.

                I was in some sort of meadow. Grass spilled out around me on all sides. To my right was a thick patch of trees, and to my left was a large pond—or a small lake? Besides those two distinguishable features, the meadow was completely empty.

                And I was surrounded on all sides. Large, concrete walls reached high over my head. I strained my eyes and could barely see their end. They seemed to reach the sun above me.

                I dragged all the supplies from the box onto the ground besides me. Once the last item had been removed, the hatch doors began to close. I thought this was my chance to escape, but to my dismay the doors jutted back open whenever I jumped back into the box. Once the doors completely closed, I heard the box screech away.

                The second day went by slowly. I left the supplies by the hatch and decided to explore my surroundings. I had been given basic food and tools for survival; I had to assume I would be here for a while.

                The small forest was thick and provided some welcome shade. There were the basic insects and bugs, along with a few squirrels and birds. The small lake had a few fish, and the water was oddly clean and clear. Both the forest and the lake gave me a shuddering feeling of artificialness that made me wary.

                I sat down in the shade of the trees. I still had no idea why I was here, or what I was supposed to do. I held back the frustration with a stubborn grip.

                My head snapped up at the sound of birds fluttering past me. A loud, bellowing screech sounded from the walls around me. It was a different sound from the box, which I was all too familiar with, and it was much, much louder.

                I stood up as a portion of the giant wall besides me began to split open. I hid behind the trees; though my immediate thought was escape, something terrifying could just as easily enter the meadow.

                After waiting a few minutes, I emerged from the trees and approached the large gap in the wall. The only item I had grabbed from the supplies was the knife, and I kept it tightly in my grip as I walked closer.

                I peered into the gap and was greeted by even more walls. But, these walls were covered in vines and ivy, and they weren’t simply lining a large room. A couple paces inside, and I realized the twist and turns were forming the walls into a maze.

                But I was one girl in a new environment with only myself to hear my screams. Today was not the day to get lost in a giant maze. I couldn’t even fathom how large this maze must be to have such high walls. I exited back into the meadow through the gap and headed back to the hatch that hid the box beneath it.

                I sifted through my supplies.

                Food, tools, and no directions whatsoever. Whoever sent me here really wanted me to start out with the bare necessities.

                “Since there’s no exit…” I muttered to myself, grabbing an axe from the pile of tools.

                I glanced back over at the gap in the wall. There _could_ be an exit.

                “Well, not today at least.”

 

                A week went by. I had a cozy little hammock, and I had started planting some of the seeds that had come up in the box with me. Everything was okay.

                The maze was unknown and could not be trusted.

                Two weeks went by. I had experienced my first weather change. It could rain in this place, among other things. I learned that thunder terrified me. The sound seemed to echo even louder against the tall concrete walls of my confinement. There was no one around to go to for comfort. I remembered how alone I was, and I cried.

                My eyes blinked at the gap in the wall through messy tears.

                Three weeks went by. I realized crying was useless, and that no one was coming to help me. The gap in the walls beckoned invitingly, but I was too much of a coward to wander inside. I knew they closed every night and opened up every morning. I knew scraping metal and mechanical shrieks sounded from inside them when they were closed. I knew nothing ever came from them during the day, but I knew better than to trap myself in the maze during the night.

                Four weeks in, and I knew how the Meadow worked. Everything had to be maintained in an orderly balance. I couldn’t kill too many fish or they wouldn’t reproduce. The same went with the birds and the other small creatures in the forest. I knew the water never got too dirty or depleted. I knew the vines from the maze made great ropes, and I knew it was impossible to climb to the top of the walls.

                I knew that this was my life now, and I knew that I wasn’t in control of it. I knew, somehow I just _knew_ , that every move I made was being monitored. I was a lab rat in a giant experiment.

                And part of that experiment was getting me into that maze, but the hypothetical cheese at the end of that road wasn’t a good enough reason to get me into that trap.

                I did contemplate ending my life. There was literally nothing to live for in this world. I had no friends, no family, no memories to even tell me if I had them in the past, and there was nothing in the Meadow that I could use as a reason to live.

                But the fear of death itself kept me alive. I ignored that option as best as I could.

                I carved another nick into one of the trees my hammock was tied to.

                It had been thirty days since I had been sent into this place. I had been alone for an entire month, and the solitude was starting to knead at my sanity. This past week I had fought an attack of hysteria and had the scrapes and bruises to prove it. One of the many trees surrounding me was now barren of branches and outer bark. The skin on my forehead was bloodied and raw. My nails were chipped and my fingers were scabbed.

                But reality came back to me, and I woke up to another lonely day.

                I had neglected my plants for a week, and I needed to make up for it. I grabbed a shovel and a bucket from the small supply shack I had hastily nailed together and headed for the small garden I had been cultivating.

                The damage was obvious, but not irreparable. I got to work right away.

                The sun beat down on me hard today, and the plants were hydrated with both my sweat and fresh water from the lake. I wiped my brow with a muddy hand and sighed.

                Familiar sounds of scraping metal caught my attention. I nearly snapped my neck turning my head in the direction of the metal box that had brought me to my solitary confinement. I dropped the shovel and grabbed the knife at my side—I had no idea what to expect.

                It was a short distance from the garden to the box. I quickly covered it and stood at the edge of the metal borders.

                The hatch containing the box shook with its impending arrival. It screeched with a halt, and the doors of the hatched pulled back to reveal the box beneath. With only a bit of hesitation, I peered inside.

                Inside was a flurry of feathers, shrieks, and obscene smells.

                I could barely distinguish the various animals before my body was forced harshly into the ground. I screamed, grip folding tightly around my knife.

                “WHO ARE YOU?” commanded my assaulter.

                “I…I’m-“ I stuttered. My words were caught. My lips had almost forgotten how to speak. I had thought I was going to be alone for the rest of my life. I peeled my eyelids back, forcing down the fear as I was used to.

                Highlighted by the sun shining down behind her, I almost thought I was dreaming. She looked like an angel; a stinky, sweaty, dirty angel. Tan skin and dark hazelnut eyes pulsed in fury. I couldn’t sense fear in her at all; just anger. Her short wavy curls moved with her rage.

                “DID YOU BRING ME HERE?” she asked, keeping me pinned down with a sturdy arm. She had the pointed end of a shovel aimed at my face.

                I stared back at her with solidarity, now in control of my own emotions and voice.

                “No. I’m the same as you.”My voice was cracked and harsh from disuse. I raised my arms and released the knife in my grip. “My name is Harriet. I’m not going to hurt you.”

                Her eyes darted back and forth from my face to the knife besides me several times before she seemed to understand the statement. After a few more moments of thought, she tossed the broken shovel aside.

                With a heaving sigh she removed herself from my chest and fell to the ground, basking besides me in the sunlight.

                “Sorry about that,” she said, becoming overwhelmingly trusting all too fast and closing her eyes, “Being trapped in a metal box full of farm animals can do things to a girl.”

                I sat up and stared at her now calm expression. She even had a smile on her face! The fear that took me almost an entire month to control had fled so easily from this girl’s mind.

                “Do you remember who you are?” I asked.

                “Not really,” she replied. “Only my name I think.”

                She opened her eyes again and outstretched a hand to me with a smile. “I’m Joan.”

 


	2. Joan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new girl is sent into the Meadow. Harriet is no longer alone, but for how long? The new girl Joan seems to have a death wish.

Chapter 02 - Joan

                Joan was smart, vivacious, and curious.

                And for all these things, her chapter ended short.

                Once, she almost died trying to scale the walls. With nothing but a knife and a belt made of the vines from the maze, she climbed as far as she could before falling from exhaustion. The tears I had promised never to let go of again began to fall from the thought of being alone. She opened her eyes and laughed at me.

                Again, she almost died trying to dig her way under the wall. But the walls were as deep as they were high, and she nearly dug her own grave when the hole collapsed around her. This time, however, I was at the other end of her vine and I dragged her out to safety.

                But she could never be complacent. Tending to the chickens, pigs, and other farm animals the box had sent up with her only made her impatient and bored. Every day I had to talk her away from the maze. It was too dangerous and too unknown. I had her listen to the mechanical shrieks and scraping sounds that sounded from the other side during night. She only grew more curious.

                She took a drill from the supplies we had and sat down at the portion of the wall that acted as doors into the maze.

                “You’re insane,” I said, watching as she stubbornly began drilling away at the edge of the wall that split open. She didn’t reply back, too immersed in her work to even realize I was speaking to her.

                Through five nights and five days I watched her work. I brought her food and water, and even bothered to take a few shifts drilling away at the wall so she could get some rest. The wall itself was about twenty feet thick, and when she had drilled far enough to only be able to work when the doors were open she grew more eager. I made sure that she was safely on my side of the wall whenever it was time for the walls to close.

                On the fifth day I awoke from a nudge at my side. Joan appeared before me; dirty and smelly. I scrunched up my nose in disgust.

                “You really need to take a bath.”

                “Forget that,” she said excitedly, dropping the drill in her hands. “It’s done.”

                I looked up at the wall besides me. A thick line traced all the way from the Meadow end of the wall, to the maze.

                “It’s a peephole,” said Joan, marveling at her own work. “With this, we can see what’s up in here at night. And if you know that,” she looked at me, “You won’t be so scared to go in.”

                “I’m not scared,” I said with a glare, “I just don’t have a death wish.”

                We walked back into the Meadow and waited until sundown, when the doors closed.

                Joan smacked herself in the face.

                “God—I’m so stupid! It’s too damn dark to see inside at night!” she shouted, clutching at her hair. “Ugh…” she collapsed onto the ground.

                The next day, before sundown, we lit the vines next to the door on fire. The fire steadily rose and spread into the maze. It was lit up exceptionally as we watched the doors close.

                This time, we were ready.

                Joan waited fervently at the peephole. She kept her eye pressed up against the wall.

                The mechanical screeches once again sounded. I tensed up and looked to Joan. She bit her lip in anticipation.

                “Something’s moving,” she said, pressing closer. “I see—I see the vines moving. Something’s covering them with…water? It’s kind of…gooey. It’s extinguishing the flames…”

                Her voice trailed off.

                “What? What is it?”

                “I don’t even know,” said Joan. “It’s like a creepy lovechild between a giant slug and a giant mechanical spider. Definitely a demon.”

                Her jokes masked her fear. I took my turn at the peephole when she was finally able to tear herself away.

                I couldn’t suppress my fear nearly as well as she had. My breathing hitched. I felt beads of sweat forming at my brow.

                ‘Demon’ was correct. Even though the fire was dying down, I could see how gigantic and terrifying it was. Opaque slime covered a spine of metal and gears. Rods jutted out from the goop to form insect-like legs, and a long metallic tail, complete with what could only be a stinger, thrashed out wildly from the end. It was a monster. A real life demon.

                And it wasn’t alone. Two others had joined it to put out the fire. Gelatinous liquid sprayed out from the giant spiked holes I took for mouths.

                The last of the flames were extinguished, and I retracted from the wall. I was breathing hard, and I covered my mouth with my hand.

                “Well, now we know,” said Joan, leaning against the wall.

                “You still want to go in there?” I asked in disbelief. I could barely hold back my vomit. It wasn’t every day you saw an actual nightmare come to life.

                “There has to be a way out,” she said. “They wouldn’t just make demons to be giant fire extinguishers. There’s a purpose for them as much as there is a purpose for us. That maze has to be some sort of test, and those things have to be the hurdles.” Joan clenched her fists. “Mazes are meant to be solved, and if there’s no answer for us in here, there must be one out there.”

                “What’s out there is danger,” I said, poker face resurfacing. “Those things can clearly kill us.”

                “They’ve never come out during the day.”

                “And they could just as easily be laying in wait once you get deep enough. You could die.”

                “Just as well!” She pounded a fist against the wall, “We’re dead in here anyways!”

                “I think we’re doing just fine.” I got up from the ground and picked the remnants of dinner around us.

                “No, we’re not!” she shouted, knocking the makeshift plates out of my hand. “No matter how much you try and how much you plan, we’re not fine! This isn’t a life!”

                “You don’t need t-”

                “Don’t you care at all?”

                For once, I heard an unusual bitterness in her voice.

                “Don’t you care about who you were?” She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one. “We have all these memories of the same world, but none about our families or friends. Don’t you care if any of it is even real?” She put a hand to her chest. “Are we even real? As far as we know, we could have been made just like those monsters.”

                I stepped closer to her and covered her hand with my own.

                “Joan, _we are real_.”

                “How do you know that?” she asked, grimacing as if to cry but without tears. “How do you know anything? You didn’t get any answers while you were here alone, and we haven’t found anything since I’ve been here. I’m tired of waiting around for some savior to find us.”

                Her eyes made contact with mine.

                “I’m going in there tomorrow.”

                I gripped her hand tighter.

                “Okay.”

 

                The first trip into the maze didn’t uncover any secrets. I held my breath every time we turned a corner and let out a sigh of relief when nothing jumped out to attack us. The only thing greeting us at every turn was another wall covered in vines. The maze seemed to be endless.

                I had taken a bucket of red paint (a remnant of the unused art supplies that I had found when I had first arrived at the Meadow) diluted with water. It was thick enough to leave a stain on the ground, and I marked our path with drops as we walked further into the maze.

                I made sure we made it back to the Meadow hours before the doors closed. Yes, I was allowing us to go inside; but that didn’t mean I was going to be foolish about it.

                It was day 27 since Joan had been sent here. We had started exploring the maze on day 23. Within that small amount of time we deduced a few things.

                One, the maze changed every night. The walls shuffled around like giant dominos, and I marked as many as I could with different symbols to observe where they ended up.

                Two, the Demons never came out during the day. The peephole confirmed that the Demons were present in the maze every night, but we never saw a single mechanical tendril amongst the vines in daylight. 

                Third, and probably the most upsetting, was that the maze was very large, and very much endless. Most of the time we’d just hit dead ends. Several times we ended up back at the doors leading to the Meadow. Neither of us expected to find a neon lit sign directing us to the nearest exit, but we also didn’t expect to find _absolutely_ _nothing_.

                “I think we have to go in at night,” said Joan, wiping the sweat from her brow. We had just returned from the day’s trip into the maze. The sun began to set above us.

                “No,” I said firmly, shaking my head.

                “That has to be the test,” she continued, staring back into the maze. “A test wouldn’t be easy. They want us to go in there and—I don’t know, fight those things?! Maybe one of them has like, like…” She grabbed her hair in frustration. “Like a trigger, or a button, or something! The maze and the Demons have to be there for a reason. This is a test.”

                “That’s insane!”

                “Maybe they’re testing our sanity!” she shouted, pulling up grass with her fists. “Maybe if we fight them, and we win, we get to leave!”

                “Joan, stop.” I grabbed her face with my hands and stared into her eyes. “That’s not the answer.”

                The doors began to close in front of us.

                “Then what is?”

                Before I could reply my breath was violently knocked out of me as a solid punch landed directly at the center of my stomach.  I couldn’t even scream. I hunched over Joan’s arms, and she gently laid me down on the ground. I grabbed her wrist.

                “W-What…” I gasped, nails digging into her skin.

                “You can’t follow me.”

                Joan shook off my grip with ease and walked towards the closing walls. She only had her knife with her.

                I reached out for her.

                “Joan!”

                She crossed over into the maze, looking back only when the doors were almost shut.

                “I need to find an answer.”

 

                When I could finally gather enough air in my lungs to scream it was too late. She was gone, and the doors were sealed shut. Calling her name and scraping at the wall was useless. There was no sign of her at the entrance of the maze even if I strained my eyes through the peephole to the extent of their visual capabilities.

                I could only wait. I waited by the wall all night. I didn’t have the peace of mind to fall asleep. My ears strained for any sound that could signal her situation, but I couldn’t hear anything beyond the mechanical scraping of the Demons.

                The sun eventually rose into the sky, signaling morning, and my body straightened up as I felt the walls begin to split behind me.  I rushed myself inside, scraping my arms against the harsh concrete.

                Joan was nowhere in sight.

                I ran forward, following one of the many paths marked on the ground. We hadn’t even deciphered the maze yet, but somehow I hoped to run into her.

                I looked down at the faded drops of paint that marked one of our endless trips into the maze. The diluted drops of red steadily became darker, and fresher, until I realized that I wasn’t following drops of paint any more. I pushed my pace even faster as the drops of blood in front of me became thicker and turned into steady trails.

                Her body finally came into the view at the end of the dirty path. She was crumpled on the ground, covered in ivy. The streaks on the floor showed that she had dragged herself part of the way there. She no longer had a knife in her hands.

                I screamed her name, but she was out cold. Blood was dripping profusely from a deep gash in her stomach, and her veins had all become visible on the surface; a sickly blue that crawled across her skin like lightning.

                I heaved her body over my shoulders and trembled as my mind wandered to the worst expected outcome. She didn’t stir a single bit as I dragged her back to the Meadow, but at the very least I could feel a haggard stream of breaths escaping through her lips.

                “Joan, please…” I whispered.

                It took almost an hour to get her back into the Meadow. I dragged her to the lake and washed out the wound in her stomach. She had been stabbed several times, probably by the nasty stinger attached to one of the Demons. The wound was the source of the blue veins.

                It seemed to be some sort of injection. A foreign substance was running through her body. I wasn’t a doctor, and I had little knowledge on science; the only thing I could think of to do was bandage her up.

                Her lips were cracked and dry. There were blood stains all over her clothes. She wasn’t dead, but she definitely wasn’t getting any closer to being healthy and alive.

                “Joan, please…” I said in a whisper, holding her face in my hands and touching her forehead against mine. “Don’t die. Please don’t die.”

                I clutched her tighter.

                “God damn it, don’t die!”

                After what felt like an eternity I felt movement in my arms. She was regaining consciousness.

                “Joan…?”

                Her hands moved up to her head. She grabbed her hair and started to groan. I moved to help her sit up.

                But in seconds I was pinned to the ground. Joan was screaming over me, shouting jumbled words and phrases. She wasn’t coherent at all; her screams sounded more like roaring than it did words.

                I shoved her back. Luckily, her wound was toning down her strength, because in any normal fight Joan would have had me cornered.

                She quickly recovered her ground, moving in a way that seemed almost beastly. I grabbed the knife at my waist and pointed it at her.

                “Joan, stop,” I said, pleading. “What’s wrong with you?”

                “We’re dead. We’re dead,” she muttered, continuing to pull on her hair. “We’re dead. There’s nothing.” Her eyes turned to me. They were bloodshot.

                This time, I was prepared. She lunged at me and I grabbed her by the forearms. I spun her behind me and pushed her down into the lake. As she flailed in the water, I grabbed the bucket nearby and swung it as hard as I could as she resurfaced. With a loud, hollowed sound, I struck her in the temple, and she fell heavily back into the lake.

                Day 27 since Joan’s arrival. Day 57 since mine. I thought we were going to be fine, but now we were the farthest from ‘fine’ than we had ever been.

                I dragged Joan’s unconscious body to the sturdiest tree I could find and tied her securely to the trunk with several vines we had been using as ropes.

                Then I collapsed on the ground in front of her.

                What had happened? Why was Joan like this? I was so tired of asking questions, and I was so tired of not getting any answers. I didn’t want to be alone again, but I didn’t know how long it’d be until Joan would return to normal—if she even could.

                I was so tired. My mind was numb, and the grass was soft. I welcomed the blankness that sleep brought as I dozed off.

                Day 28. I sat across from Joan as she screamed at me, squirming to free herself from her binds so she could attack me. From morning to night, I watched her. I wondered how she could want to hurt me so badly. I wondered where she had gone, because she definitely wasn’t here with me now.

                Day 29. I talked to her even though I knew it was pointless.

                I was depleted of emotions. I stared at her from my position on the ground. I hadn’t eaten, or done anything for that matter. I talked to her from whenever I had bothered to wake up, until it became dark again. Dark clouds hung low in the sky overhead.

                “What happened in there?” I asked.

                “We’re dead!” she roared back repeatedly. “No use! No point! We’re gonna die! There’s nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing!”

                “Did a Demon sting you?”

                “We’re dead!”

                “Who’s dead?”

                “No use!”

                “Do you know who I am?”

                “There’s nothing!”

                “Do you know who you are?”

                “Nothing!”

                I think I knew, in the back of my mind, that the vines were coming undone. I think I knew that soon she would break free. She could attack me, and maybe we would both die.

                But I think I knew that I didn’t have enough of a grasp on my common sense anymore to care. I had my knife with me, but I knew I would never be able to hurt her with it.

                I heard her screaming. I heard the vines snap as she pulled with all her might; ripping, tearing, even biting the plants away. I watched her approach me in some kind of terrifying anger I didn’t deserve. An anger that wasn’t really aimed at me, but that I was going to accept.

                She threw herself at me, and I let her. I was done caring. I closed my eyes.

                My skin was bruising and my mouth was bleeding. It hurt, but my mind wasn’t registering it. I was going numb.

                “HARRIET!”

                I opened my eyes. Joan was standing in front of me, pulling at her face with her hands. She kept screaming and shaking her head.

                My heart began to beat faster. Had she come back? Was she better now? The brief moment of realization was enough to force the gears in my head start turning again.

                Her hands moved away and her eyes were still bloodshot. She lunged at me again.

                But this time I did not fall. I held my ground.

                Joan wouldn’t want me to die. I had to live; or at the very least, try.

                I forced her back, trying to push her towards the trees where I could find something to strike her with. A rock, a branch—anything to make her unconscious.

                Her temporarily lapse had somehow caused her to become more furious. Though I put all my strength into pushing her back, she got her hands out of my grip and spun us around, pinning me against the tree instead. Her fingers crushed into my neck.

                I gasped for air, clawing at her arms for release.

                “Joan!” I gasped. “Let go!” I began to see white spots behind my eyelids every time I blinked.

                In a moment I saw her mind come back to her. Fingers left my neck. Joan was with me again; but not for long. Her eyes were screaming. She clutched at her throat, trying to form words. Unable to convey a message, her fingers wandered. Her eyes darted to the knife at my waist.

                Before I could register her course of action, it was already done.

                She stopped moving. My knife was in her hands, and her hands were at her chest. Blood was seeping quickly out of her body; her shirt was already soaked through. She fell to her knees.

                With whatever minimal strength she had left, she looked up at me from the ground.

                “Harriet,” she said, that radiant smile of hers showing through even beyond the blood and the grime. “Harriet, please. Take care of the rest.” She was different now. There was a knowledge behind her words that was foreign to me.

                I should have said comforting words to her. My thoughts screamed at me, telling me to open my stupid mouth and say something. But where words lacked, the tears filled. It was now, too many moments after her last words, that I realized what was happening.

There was rain. The world was crying; because I was crying. My world was dead. Joan was dead. All the courage I had gained to live in that brief moment when she had said my name was now gone.

                There wasn’t a proper burial. There wasn’t a proper funeral. There wasn’t even a proper casket. There was nothing in that godforsaken box that could conjure up the majestic procession she deserved. There was only me with my bleeding, broken hands and the dirt beneath tired, weary feet.

                After I had dug a large enough ditch, I dragged her bruised and bloodied body into it. The hole was already filling up with both the rain and my tears.

                I sat at the edge of the ditch, looking down at her lifeless body. Joan’s face and mind showed a state of peace and calm I desperately wanted for myself.

                I contemplated throwing myself into that ditch with her. I could easily let the rain cover me. Drown me into a state of happy nothingness.

                _We stood around the small garden. I shoveled away at the soft dirt, making a hole for the sapling we had uprooted from the forest. We thought it’d be a nice marker for the garden._

_“Are you gonna help?” I asked._

_Joan ignored me and rest her hands on her shovel, which wasn’t picking up dirt._

_“You know, it’s been almost three weeks since I’ve been here,” she said, looking out at the Meadow. “Do you think someone else is going to come up in that box?”_

_“I hope so,” I retorted. “That’ll give me someone else to talk to besides your dumb ass.”_

_Joan kicked some dirt into the hole I was digging._

_“Hey!”_

_She laughed and held her shovel up high._

                _“Here’s hoping we get a new friend! Not that I’d wish this life on anyone, but I could do with another face up here besides yours.”_

 It was still day 29. Tomorrow would be day 30 since Joan had been sent here. If another person were to be sent here…

                _“Take care of the rest.”_

                I scooped up a handful of soggy dirt and tossed it into the hole that held in it all my happiness and hopes.

                “If no one comes up tomorrow, I’ll join you,” I said, biting my lip as tears came down in even larger torrents. I continued to cover up her body with dirt. “If someone does come….”

                I dragged over the sapling we had never planted; one of our many thoughts for the future. I laid it on top of the spot where Joan lay and patted it firmly into the ground.

                “I’ll take care of them.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to follow me at the-other-maze.tumblr.com for faster updates and other content that is to come!


	3. Sonya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another new girl is sent into the Meadow following Joan's death. She helps Harriet cope with what she's lost.

Chapter 03 - Sonya

 

                Day 30

                I sat silently by the hatch. I was tired and completely sucked dry of emotion and tears.

                The metallic screeching drew closer, and the hatch doors pulled back to reveal the metal box beneath.

                Silence.

                With a sigh I got up and looked down into the box. Maybe they had only sent supplies this time. Or maybe they were finally going to just let me die.

                My eyes fell onto a hunched over figure. Long blonde hair covered the back of the person sitting with their arms wrapped around their knees, facing away from me. The usual boxes and bags of supplies were scattered messily around the newcomer.

                “Hello?” I called.

                The head of blonde hair slowly turned around. Hazel eyes, red and puffy from crying, looked up at me.

                “Please.” Her voice cracked. Clearly, she had gone through her phase of screaming and crying during her trip up like I had. “I…I tried to help her. B-but the boxes fell on top.” She stammered through her words and she held up whatever it was she had been protecting in her lap. “I didn’t know what to do. I could barely see!” Her tears started up again.

                The small grey tabby cat in her hands mewed gently. One of its back legs was bent in a way I was certain was unnatural, and its neck was hastily bandaged up. The cloth had been taken from the girl’s own shirt since I could see that hers was ripped away at the bottom. Blood was slowly seeping through it.

                “P-Please help her!” stuttered the girl. I could tell her stress was at its limit. A terrifying box ride into an unknown environment, along with a dying animal in her hands, was probably taking its toll.

                I jumped down into the box. She was shaking, but continued to stare at me. I took the cat in one hand and extended the other to her.

                “We’ll help her,” I said. “And I’ll help you.”

                She nodded and took my hand, letting me help her up onto her feet.

                I climbed out of the box—with a bit of difficulty since I had the injured cat in one hand—then helped her out. She followed me silently, making startled jumps with every new noise and sound.

                I probably wasn’t the best person for the job, but I did the best that I could. I brought the cat to the lake and washed the gash on its neck. It wasn’t too deep, and it was certainly still breathing, so that was good. The new girl watched the cat as I ran back to the supply shack to grab some materials. With some twine and the straightest branch I could find, I managed to create a makeshift splint for the cat’s broken leg.

                When I was done with my work, the girl continued to hold the cat close to her. We sat in the center of the Meadow, at the fire pit I had messily constructed during my first month here. I got the flames going. Even though it was day, the sky had remained dark from the previous night’s rain. It wasn’t the warmest of weathers.

                I sat beside her

                “Do you remember your name?” I asked.

                It was alarming how fast she began to cry. I was startled as tears suddenly began to well up in her eyes, still red and puffy from her trip into the Meadow.

                “I-I don’t know!” she exclaimed, salty tears falling onto the cat in her lap. “I don’t know anything! I just—I don’t remember who I am. I don’t remember where I came from, I-” She began to choke on her words. “I…I…”

                I put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay! It’s okay…breathe…” I said, trying to steady her breathing. “It’s fine. I don’t remember anything either. You can think about your name later.”

                She looked at me, sad and confused. “Is that normal?” Her expression was so overwhelmingly disheartening that it made me want to do everything in my power to make her comfortable.

                I gave her a smile.

                “Nothing’s really normal here,” I said, “But I’ll try to make it better.”

                She swallowed down hiccups and tried to hold her breaths back so she could speak.

                “Th-thank you…”

                I held my hand out to her once again.

                “For starters, my name’s Harriet.”

 

                The new girl was quiet and meek. Most things scared her, but after explanations about what everything was, she grew calmer. She spent most of her time caring for the cat that had come up in the box with her, resorting to just calling her Cat. She said it’d be rude to name an animal when she couldn’t even think of her own name.

                To be honest, she was a convenient distraction for me. Every moment I had alone before she arrived, I was thinking about Joan, but now my mind was preoccupied with new tasks every day to teach the new girl about the Meadow.

                My relationship with her was much more back-and-forth than it had been with Joan. When it had just been Joan and I, we both somewhat knew the same things, and didn’t know the same things. With the new girl, though, she had different types of knowledge.

                She knew how to properly keep the crops alive, and the most efficient ways of irrigating water to them. She knew how to care for the animals; what they liked and didn’t like, and what they needed to live more healthily. Most importantly, she knew how to throw in different types of ingredients together to make something much tastier than the raw fruits, vegetables, and charred up animals I had been surviving off of.

                All of these things, she taught me, and in turn I taught her my knowledge. I showed her how to catch fish and make a hammock. I coached her through daily exercise regimens, worried about her slim figure versus her new environment. I felt important. I felt depended on.

                On the 14th day after her arrival, she finally remembered her name.

                “Harriet.”

                I rolled over in my hammock, ignoring the nudge at my side. The sun had already risen but it’s not like we had any particular schedules to stick to.

                “Harriet!”

                I felt something soft, but dense, drop onto my stomach. Tiny pricks made their way through my shirt. Small paws kneaded into my skin.

                Dumping Cat onto each other had become our impromptu way of waking each other up.

                “What…” I murmured, eyes still closed. I scratched Cat behind the ears, lifting her slightly so that her claws detached from my shirt.

                “I remember my name.”

                I opened my eyes to look at her.

                “It’s Sonya,” she said.

                “Sonya,” I repeated, still staring at her. Cat leapt off my stomach and onto the ground beneath the hammock.

                She started to cry on the spot, but with a smile on her face.

                “I-It feels so good to be called by a name!” she exclaimed through her tears. She wiped at her eyes with her sleeves. “I don’t feel… s-so lost anymore!”

                I raised my arms in her direction and smiled.

                “Come here, Sonya.”

                She stopped trying to wipe away her tears and threw herself into my arms. The hammock creaked in protest and we swayed dangerously back and forth.

                We stayed in my hammock for a while. She began to chat excitedly about how she heard her name while she was sleeping—like someone was calling to her. I told her that I found my name in a similar fashion.

                We were both happy that I could finally stop calling her “new girl” all the time.

                After Sonya discovered her name, I felt like she gained even more personality. She might not have actually changed that much, but I think finally being able to put a name to a face made her stand out that much more to me.

                We weren’t very similar in personalities, but I felt like she was now a part of me. I felt she was someone I had always needed in my life. She was my anchor, and whenever I felt my thoughts wander to some dark and depressing place, her presence grounded me back to who I was supposed to be.

                I hadn’t actually known her for that long, but I felt like we had known each other for a lifetime. A full lifetime, that is; before this one.  

                We talked about everything. We matched up our knowledge on what we knew the world should be like to make sure we had the same facts. We discussed what we’d want our ideal rooms, houses, pets, even school classes, to be like.

                I thought we had talked about everything possible, until she asked me something new.

                Sonya pulled up weeds besides me, working in silence as I shoveled up dirt. We were working on planting some new vegetables.

                “Who’s Joan?” she asked suddenly.

                “Hm?”

                “She was someone important to you, right? Before I got here…”

                I began to shovel with more force.

                “Next question.”

                “Harriet, we literally only have each other in this place. There’s no point in keeping secrets,” said Sonya. She had become much more assertive ever since learning her name.

                “I don’t…” I mumbled a bit, trying to keep my emotions in check, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

                “There’s a rock by the tree that marks the garden,” she continued, crouching down beside me and continuing to talk instead of pulling up weeds. “The name ‘Joan’ was scratched into it. I actually found it a while ago, but I didn’t think it was the right time to ask.”

                I should have just hid that rock.

                “Now’s not the right time either,” I replied.

                But she continued her interrogation.

                “Does she…have something to do with the maze?”

                I tensed up. Sonya knew I never talked about the maze; not since she came up in the box and I let her look through the peephole and told her to stay away from it. All she had to know was that it was an unsolvable maze, it was full of monsters, and it was dangerous. I had flat out begun to act like it didn’t exist.

                “Is she the reason why we never go in it?”

                I thrust the shovel into the ground and put my head in my hands.

                “Sonya, I-”

                She patted the ground next to her, motioning for me to sit.

                “I really don’t want to talk about this.”

                “There’s only you and me here,” she said, looking up at me. “I know almost everything about you—everything there is to know, really. We’ve basically spent our whole lives here since we don’t know anything before it.”

                I slowly sat down besides her, conceding to the conversation.

                “You literally know everything about me. Everything that makes me who I am happened after I came up in that box and met you.” She rested her head on my shoulder. “But there’s a you that I don’t know—a you from before I got here. And I know that’s blocking me from knowing a big chunk of you.”

                I leaned my head back against hers.

                “You know everything you should know.”

                “Don’t keep secrets from me to protect me,” said Sonya. “If you keep secrets, I’ll get curious, and I’ll go out into that maze. Tell me, and I’ll understand. I won’t have to look for myself.”

                “It’s not that…I know I can trust you with anything; you’re smart enough to make your own decisions,” I said, closing my eyes. “It’s just…it’s just me trying to block out guilt.”

                She sat in silence, urging me to continue. She probably knew that if she were to interject any time soon, I’d stop talking about the subject.

                “Joan was the second girl here,” I explained, “I was alone for a month, and then she came up. She was amazingly strong and brave. She wanted to go into the maze, so we did. She’s the one that made that hole in the wall.”

                I began to remember Joan. It hurt me vividly.

                “She became fed up with being here, and I let her go into the maze alone after the doors closed. I found her the next day completely messed up. She had been attacked by those giant Demons, and whatever it was they had in those stingers changed her.” I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to hold back tears. “She kept trying to kill me. She said everything was useless, and that we were all dead—that there’s no point to anything. I think… I think she knew something about why we were in here. I think the sting made her remember something terrible.”

                “She was like that for three days. I tied her up, but she kept trying to kill me. I had eventually given up on everything—I actually wanted to die with her. When she broke free, I thought I’d just let her kill me. But then-” My voiced pitched higher, and I swallowed back sobs, “She killed herself. She…she came back for a moment, I’m sure of it. She killed herself before she could kill me.”

                I let the tears fall. If anything, they were long overdue.

                “It was all my fault. I let her die. I should have stopped her from going in. I should have gone with her—maybe the two of us could have done something. I could have helped her…”

                I looked down. The dirt was completely covered in the pattern of my fallen tears.

                “When she was gone, I wanted to go with her.”

                I felt Sonya intertwine her fingers with mine, and I turned to face her.

                Tears rolled down her face as she held my hand.

                “Why are you crying?” I asked, still crying myself.

                “I’m just sorry you had to go through that,” she said, “I can’t make you feel like it’s not your fault, but if it was me, and you were the one that died…I don’t think I could have went on. You’re very strong for continuing on.”

                “It’s not strength. I was just doing what I was told,” I said.

                “What do you mean?”

                “Before she passed…she said ‘Take care of the rest.’ I told myself that if no one came up in that box the next day, I’d join her. But luckily you did.”

                I squeezed her hand.

                “I had to take care of the rest.”

                Today was day 30. Someone new was going to be sent up in that box tomorrow.

                Sonya squeezed my hand in return.

                “ _We’ll_ take care of rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please follow me at the-other-maze.tumblr.com and let me know your thoughts either here or over there! Tumblr will come first when it comes to updates on the story.

**Author's Note:**

> Please follow me at the-other-maze.tumblr.com and let me know your thoughts either here or over there! Tumblr will come first when it comes to updates on the story.


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